Scattered
by LightWoman
Summary: Random collection of drabbles. Could be angst, friendship, romance... pretty much anything!
1. Reach

So, since I've always got thoughts flying into my head, and they don't always fit in with the current fic I'm working on, I thought I'd start a collection of drabbles, just so these thoughts have a place to go. Some might be about Cal, some Gillian, some about both of them… I won't completely rule out writing about anyone else, but most likely it'll just be those two ;-) So if I just write 'he' or 'she' that's who I'm talking about. This one's quite long for a drabble, some will probably be a lot shorter… Oh, also thanks to SassyCop for letting me steal the title 'Scattered'!

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Reach

She's sitting in the waiting room, idly flipping through a magazine, eyes scanning the pictures, occasionally drinking in a word or two. It's just a routine appointment, nothing to worry about, but she's never really liked or felt comfortable in doctor's surgeries.

She lifts her eyes at the sound of voices; a mother and her son are standing by the counter, making an appointment. The boy – he looks around four – is reaching his hands over the counter, the top of his head about two inches below it. He then pulls his hands back and jumps up; does it again, again, again. Trying to see what's over the top. His mother is talking to the receptionist, flicking through her diary for dates, nodding her head in conversation and murmuring her agreement. But it's the boy Gillian looks at as he jumps up, again and again, frustrated at being unable to see what he wants to see, frustrated at being prevented from exploring something because of his youth and his height.

He catches her eye and she smiles, and is given a toothy grin in return. His mother holds out a hand with a gentle warning to stop jumping, and he tries to stand up on tiptoes instead. Glancing at Gillian again, she returns his gaze with another smile, hoping to convey just what she is thinking. _I know how you feel, not being able to get what you want. I understand the frustration of having things be just out of reach._

How many times in life did people long to see something they couldn't, try to achieve a goal that was just one step too far, gaze at the horizon knowing it would forever be out of reach? How many times had she come close to what she wanted, only, in the end, to have it just be a little too far away, out of her reach?

Then they're on their way out; the mother is shoving her appointment card into her bag with one hand and holding onto her son's with the other, and as they walk away he glances wistfully at the counter over his shoulder.

"Gillian Foster?" She places the magazine on the seat, stands up and begins to walk, her mind still full of the boy's cheeky grin, his earnest jumping, his unfulfilled longing.


	2. Empty

**Disclaimer: Still own nothing.**

Empty

Some things are better empty. An empty plate can mean a satisfied customer or a well-enjoyed meal. An empty carriage on a train gives you more room to spread out. An empty house when you want peace and quiet can be an oasis of blissful calm.

But some things are not better empty. A stroller. A cradle. A womb.

She won't go as far as to say her heart is empty, because it's not – there are things and people in this world that she loves, and she is given plenty of reasons in a day to smile and be happy, to be grateful for what she has.

But there is a place in her heart that nothing and no one else can fill, and even if she is lucky enough to find another child in this world to love, it won't be a replacement for the one she lost. That part of her will go on loving Sophie for as long as she lives.

Even if she has nothing more to show for it than a faded blanket and an empty nursery.


	3. Turning

Written because I wanted there to be some happy drabbles in here, not just angsty ones. Dedicated to tomellie and SassyCop… they know why ;-)

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Turning

She watches the doll on the music box, turning around and around. Confined to the pink and lilac box, but happy to be there. Twirling, spinning, dancing.

She listens to the tinkle of the music, memories coming to her in flashes. A little girl in a pink tutu, twirling, spinning, dancing. She's always loved ballet, and she's always loved music boxes.

Which makes it the perfect present.

She smiles up at him, her eyes shining, then leans forward to kiss him gently on the lips. "Thank you, Cal. I love it."

He smiles back at her. "Happy birthday, love."


	4. Ink

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Ink

It doesn't occur to him when he pulls the book off the shelf that he hasn't looked at it for over twenty years, or that it used to be hers. He's got a lot of her old books, a lot of her old things. He opens it, and a piece of paper flutters out. He bends to pick it up, curls his fingers around the small scrap, and feels his chest tighten as his eyes fall on the familiar writing scrawled upon it.

_Milk. Bread. Bananas. Potatoes. Garlic._

It's just a shopping list – an ordinary, mundane, run-of-the-mill thing. And yet he can't tear his eyes away from it; drinking in the loop of her l's and the curl of her c's, the way she dotted her i's with more of a dash, the curve and flow of her writing, imprinted on the paper before him. He cannot banish the knowledge that burns inside him, the knowledge that she will never write again. He knows the ink will never flow in quite the same way from the pen in his hands as it did in hers, knows that letters will never form on paper again because she has willed it, knows that she will never again need a shopping list.

But it is proof –for anyone who dared to forget, or who didn't know her – it is irrevocable proof that she was here. She lived and breathed and walked on this earth, and she imprinted part of herself in indelible ink on a scrap of paper that lived on after her death.

He rubs his finger lightly over the letters, over the rough edge of the paper, over the cover of the book he discovered it in. Then, carefully, he folds it and replaces it where he found it, gently returning the book to its place on the shelf.

It's not poetry, it's not a literary masterpiece, it's not valuable information. But it's hers.


	5. Loss

One naughty word in this one. Sorry. Had to be done.

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

Loss

She wishes she could forget, but she can't. It's easy for him, he can play the game better than her, he always has. He can compartmentalise, but she doesn't know how. He can switch off his mind, set his body to autopilot, and function, function, function without the need to engage his brain, or his heart.

She can't.

It's there, whatever she's doing – typing up a report, brushing her teeth, doing the _fucking _dishes. She can push it slightly to the side to allow her to complete a task, but not away. Never away.

He won't talk about it, no matter how much she wants to, _needs _to, and that leaves her with nothing but the thoughts bouncing around inside her skull, and the single word that she cannot erase that will forever be joined with _Sophie _and _child_.

Loss. Loss. Loss.


	6. Please

**Disclaimer: Same as always, not mine.**

Please

She says that word so often; she's a polite person, after all. "Pass the bread, please." "Could you do me a favour, please?" "Please can you tell me where I can find your boss?" "Would you please stop annoying our clients…" The last one's just for him, of course.

She says please a lot, and she's said it a thousand times in her prayers.

_Please let me get pregnant. Please let the test results be okay. Please let the birth mother choose us. Please don't let her take my baby away._

Here she is again, saying that word. Sometimes it's just a word; used to be polite, to help you get your way, to show you have manners and common decency. Here, it means everything.

"Let him go. Please."


	7. Smile

**Disclaimer: Same as always, not mine.**

Smile

The security guard smiles at him as he stamps up the steps to the building, but all he gets is a huff in return.

Loker tells a stupid joke as he passes him in the hall, and is given a look that clearly signals his boss is not in the best of moods.

Heidi smiles at him brightly as she hands him some mail; he takes it with a muttered, "thanks", his lips still refusing to curl.

He gets to his office, flops in his chair, swings it round a bit, then props his feet up on the desk and exhales loudly.

"Hey." Her voice is soft, accompanied by a sweet smile.

"Hey," he replies, and there it is; even when no one else can coax it out of him, she can. A smile.


	8. Echo

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Echo

She can't admit that she still talks to her; people will think she's crazy. But there are things she needs to say, and if she doesn't say them out loud the words will swallow her whole. People talk to the graves of those they've lost, even though that person is gone. What's so different about sitting in an empty room, talking to a child who was once yours, but who could no longer pick your face out in a crowd?

People will think she's even crazier if she says that sometimes she hears her. A murmur, a whisper, a distant cry. She hears her voice in the rustle of the wind blowing through the trees, in the mumbles of another child, in the oppressive silence that settles in the room when she is left alone with her thoughts.

She can squeeze her eyes shut, and picture her face, and the image will be accompanied by a sound. Just a small noise, but she'd recognise it anywhere. Her daughter.

She's not crazy enough to think it's real; she knows what it is. A memory, of a time long past; a shadow lurking in every room; a hallucination; a wish; a dream. An echo.


	9. Hey

So, this one's for nikkidog, who requested a drabble about the word 'hey'… I hope you like it!

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Hey

It can mean so many things, that simple word. It's a greeting, an opening to conversation, or a signal that no more needs to be said.

Three letters, and it's _hello_, _how are you_, _I'm okay._

When he's entering your office to ask a simple question, when he returns from a trip and you realise how much you've missed him, when he visits you in the hospital and you've never been so glad to see anyone; that tiny word is all you need.

When you're checking in at the end of a long day, when you're thanking her for performing yet another selfless act for you, when you're standing on her doorstep after realising she's the one; offer her those three letters, and she'll take them.

With one word spoken, a thousand are not.

_Thank you._

_I'm sorry._

_I love you._

They hear the tone, they see the expression, they catch every glimpse of meaning there is to be captured, and use it to distinguish one from another. Nothing else is needed, and the space in between is filled with all the things other people have to voice out loud. It's just a word – short and simple - but to them, it is so much more.


	10. Cartwheel

This one's for tomellie… she inspired me ;-)

**Disclaimer: Still don't own them.**

Cartwheel

He's walking past her office when he nears the noise; a thump, followed by a cry.

"Foster?" He pushes open the door, pokes his head in, then hurries inside when he sees her sprawled on the floor clutching her ankle. "Are you okay?" He extends a hand to her, and she takes it gratefully.

"I'm fine." She looks embarrassed as she stands up, and brushes down her skirt. "I just… fell."

He arches an eyebrow at her. "You 'just fell'?"

She starts to nod, catches his expression, and suddenly giggles. "Okay. I was… doing a cartwheel." She giggles again at the look on his face.

"A cartwheel?"

"Yep."

"In your office?"

"Yep."

"In the middle of the day?"

"Yep." She sits down on her chair, rubbing her ankle. "I just misjudged the space, and caught my ankle on the desk. It's fine."

"Foster…" He gives her a baffled expression. "The word 'why' springs to mind."

She grins at him. "Why not?"

"Because you're not eleven?"

She shrugs. "So? Who says you can't still do cartwheels at my age? Or eat candy? Or go on the swings in the park?"

"You went on the…" he trails off, and she smiles again, although with a faint blush.

"It was late… no one was around…"

"You're mad," he decides, and she flashes him another of those smiles that makes him almost forget how to breathe.

"Quite possibly." She starts sifting through papers on her desk, tapping her pen, biting her lip lightly in concentration. She looks so focussed, so professional, and he can't hold back a laugh as he imagines her cartwheeling around her office.

"What?" she asks, looking up, and he shakes his head and gives her an amused grin.

"You," he says, by way of explanation. "Just you." He opens the door and starts to head out, before remembering something and taking a stride backwards. "Oh, meeting with the Davidsons at 11, yeah?"

"Umm…" She reaches for her diary and flicks through it, trailing her finger down the page. "Yes, that's fine. I've scheduled my handstand for ten thirty, so I'll be done by then."

He's still chuckling when he reaches his office.


	11. Curve

I owe this one to Darden Smith's song _Perfect Moment_, which I love. The line 'love don't travel in straight lines' just got me thinking… here's the result!

**Disclaimer: Not mine at all.**

Curve

She used to think it was all so straight forward; grow up, meet a man, fall in love, get married, have a baby, build a life. It was the picture painted for her by books, TV shows, families around her – if characters in stories could make it happen, why couldn't she?

But her life hadn't worked out that way. She wasn't shooting towards her happy ending along the straight line she'd set out for herself. There were tangents, paths to travel down that she'd never expected, meandering trails that sometimes left her lost.

And there was him.

Sometimes her life seemed to be curling back on itself, sometimes spinning in a different direction, sometimes spiralling in circles she couldn't control. There are no straight lines anymore; but love doesn't run in straight lines, she knows this now, and she doesn't mind. There's more than one way to reach a destination, and if her journey is a curve, she can accept that. It's a curve she's not travelling alone.


	12. Thief

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

Thief

He's had a lot of things stolen from him before. A wallet. Research. A brand new bike.

He's stolen things from other people; he regrets it, but it happened. A car. A girlfriend. Three years of a friend's life.

Now he realises that he's had something else stolen from him, and the thief is someone he never even saw as a threat. With her gentle voice, her beguiling smile, her soft embrace – it crept up on him, but now he must acknowledge it. He's never thought of her as a thief, but she's stolen his heart.


	13. Lies

Inspired yet again by a song… _Winter Song_, by Sara Bareilles & Ingrid Michaelson. It's a good song, give it a listen ;-)

**Disclaimer: As always, don't own any of it.**

Lies

_Is love a lie?_

She's wondered that a lot.

There's the wife who smiles sweetly at her husband as she hands him his dinner, secretly thinking about her rendezvous that afternoon with her lover.

There's the man who mumbles _I love you too _when his girlfriend says it first, even though he knows he doesn't mean it.

There's the man you devoted ten years of your life to, who turned out to not be who you thought he was.

And there's the man you see every day; the one who has such a defined place in your life and, at the same time, such an undefined one.

_Is love a lie? _If so, theirs is a lie of omission.


	14. Time

I dedicate this one to Victoria, since she made me post it :p

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

Time

There's never enough time. It's the one thing in life that everyone wants to control, change, manage somehow, and also the one thing that no one can.

Fifty seven days were not enough time to spend with her daughter.

Ten years was not enough time to make her marriage work.

Eight years of friendship was not enough time to make him see how she feels.

At least, with him, there's still some time left.


	15. Insomnia

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with this show, and, unfortunately, do not own the lovely Cal Lightman.**

Insomnia

He likes the quiet. He likes the dark. He likes the calm and the stillness that comes with the night. He likes the strange sense that he's breaking the rules somehow by being awake at 4am. He likes the feeling of invincibility the night brings him, the rush of power, an attraction that comes from being the only one who can access the secrets that this night has to offer. While the moments pass by for others, wasted as they slumber, he can see it, hear it, feel it all.

He's heard the word _insomnia _batted around so many times, but people speak of it so darkly. They try to combat it with warm milk and camomile tea and lavender oil on the pillow, but it isn't like that for him. It isn't an illness, it isn't an affliction, it isn't a negative impact on his life. It's lying alone in a park staring up at a sky full of stars, it's peeping at his daughter through a crack in the door as she sighs and shuffles in her dreams, it's going to places he's never been before and finding out who else inhabits this hour that most would call ungodly.

He drinks coffee in the mornings, he sleeps late at the weekends, sometimes he even naps in the afternoons. But when his body and mind are wide awake at the time when most people are getting ready to shut down, he isn't bothered. The ticking clock doesn't mock him, it reminds him that time is passing, and he's awake to witness it. The light of the moon sneaking through the window doesn't make him pull the curtains more tightly closed, but instead open them fully to see it in all its celestial beauty. The cool night breeze as he walks down empty streets doesn't make him long for a warm bed, but makes him buzz with exhilaration. _Insomnia. _While the rest of the world may see it as a curse, he doesn't. He likes it.


	16. Why

Why

She doesn't even know why she's crying. What sort of woman breaks down in tears somewhere between morning coffee and lunch?

There's nothing specific that triggered it today; it's not Sophie's birthday, it's not her wedding anniversary, she's not in the middle of an emotional case.

She came into work, she smiled at her colleagues, she shuffled her way through the paperwork that cluttered her desk.

Now her desk is clear, the files are completed, her colleagues are busy with their own work.

And she's dabbing her eyes with a tissue, berating herself for being so ridiculous, shaking her head as she tries to focus.

She doesn't know why she's crying, but she figures there doesn't always have to be a reason. Not one you can spell out simply, anyway.

Perhaps today will be the kind of day where she gets upset if she spills her coffee, where she snaps at people who don't deserve it, or stares into space biting her lip and sits for an unmeasured length of time.

Or maybe Cal will come barging into her office any second with a case for them to work on, and she'll forget why it was she was crying in the first place. Not that she ever really knew.


	17. Changes

Changes

Everything changes.

Traffic lights. Notices in shop windows. The weather.

People change.

They grow their hair, buy a new lipstick, wear heels to make themselves look a little taller.

Feelings change.

You love your husband, then you don't. You're happy with your life, then you're miserable. You're optimistic about the future, then you've given up hope altogether.

Sometimes, it's the periphery feelings that change, rather than the core feeling itself.

Hope. Disappointment. Jealousy. Fear. Anger.

They're all wrapped around the one that does not change, not for her.

Love.


	18. Things

For CsiAngel :-)

Things

It's not the things he said or did that haunt him. It's the things he didn't.

The words he never said because there didn't seem to be any need to; there was all the time in the world, or so he thought. By the time the universe had made its point that there really wasn't, it was too late.

There's all the things that happened later, too, that he never could have told her. There's the person he's become, someone so different to who he was then, and it pains him that she'll never get to have a conversation with that man, the one he is now. The scientist, the doctor, the founder of a company. The father.

He wonders how different things would be if she were still alive. If seeing what he'd managed to accomplish would make her cling to life a little tighter, if knowing her granddaughter would give her another reason to stay. Because he clearly wasn't enough of a reason on his own.

He likes to think that he would be, now. The life he's built is certainly more to be proud of than who and what he was then, although there's no way of knowing if it would be enough. Of course, he's made mistakes. Of course, in a lot of ways, he's still an emotional screw-up. But can't some of that be attributed to her? If she was here now, wouldn't he have less of those issues? Wouldn't he be a better man?

These questions are pointless, though, and ultimately just lead him round in circles. But he knows he won't stop; knows he'll never be able to cease thinking, remembering, regretting.

It's not the things he said or did that haunt him, it's the things he didn't. The things he never can.


	19. Fall

Fall

Apples fall to the ground when they're juicy and ripe, the temperature falls as the nights start drawing in, your chest rises and falls as you breathe deeply in your sleep.

People fall in love. And they fall out of it.

The higher you climb, the further you fall. She knows this. The happier you are, the harder the sadness hits. The more you want something, the more bitter the sting of disappointment when it trickles through your fingers like sand. The deeper your love, the more powerful the pain, the rejection, the hurt.

She knows people see her as an optimist. Certainly she's managed to avoid the cynicism which imbues Cal on a daily basis, but, when it comes to the things that really matter, she doesn't believe she's that optimistic. It's just too dangerous, really, to want too much, to hope for it, to expect it. The higher you climb, the further you fall, and it's for that reason that she keeps her distance from the things she wants the most. The things that could make her fall the hardest.

Raindrops fall against the window pane, prices fall in the sale, leaves fall from trees when winter is ready to claim them. There are a thousand ways to fall, and she doesn't think she'd be able to handle most of them. So she keeps her distance, plays it safe, refuses to climb to the point that could be _happiness_, in case the fall sends her plummeting all the way to _misery_.

She won't fall out of love with him, but there are other ways to fall.


	20. Applause

For recoilandgrace, because it's her birthday and the fic I'm writing that I was going to post for her today is still unfinished. Fail. So this one's dedicated to you instead my dear. Happy 40th! Oh wait, you didn't want people to know how old you were... ;-)

Applause

She remembers the sound of the audience clapping when she was in her first school play; the warm feeling it gave her to see them bringing their hands together with smiles on their faces, showing their appreciation for her in her leading role.

She can recall with perfect clarity the echoing sound of applause on the day she graduated from college; the noise was a reminder that she'd achieved something, and was receiving the praise she deserved.

She won't forget the clapping and cheers that erupted when the minister pronounced her and Alec husband and wife; how their smiles were matched by their guests, who rose to their feet, their hands performing the well-known custom used to show appreciation and congratulation.

It's ironic, she thinks, that those things earned her applause, and yet walking into the office every day doesn't. Greeting her colleagues, solving cases, keeping the company from going under; she does all of it, and with a smile on her face.

But they don't applaud. They don't see it as an achievement, getting through the day; it's not necessary to congratulate someone when they avoid breaking down in tears; her life isn't a performance for the audience to review and commend.

Except, most of the time, it is. A performance, a role, an act. The trouble is, she plays it so well, none of them even know it.


	21. Lost

Lost

Somewhere along the way, she lost her hope. It might have disappeared in a single moment, like a heavy stone falling into a lake. More likely, though, it fell away in pieces, like crumbs falling from her pocket as she walked, leaving behind a trail that leads all the way back to the day when she believed. The day when the light at the end of the tunnel was not a train hurtling towards you, when sunrises were full of promise, when laughter didn't sound like the echo of a hollow ache. The day when she thought that redemption was possible, that forgiveness was inevitable, that truth equalled happiness and both were achievable.

She remembers that time, but with less and less clarity every day. She's stepping further away from it with each waking moment, and stepping further towards something else. She isn't sure what that is – _who_ that person is – but she knows one thing. The Gillian Foster of past will not recognise her at all.


	22. Words

Words

Every time she has said those three words in her life, it has been one of two things; a lie, or a confession. They've never slipped out naturally, because that's just what she was feeling – that's the way it happens for most people, but not for her.

Sometimes, it's been a lie. Said because she felt obligated to respond, because she was desperate to believe the words were true and speaking them aloud seemed to a good way of making them so, or because she half believed them, but knew deep down that they never would be real.

Or, a confession. Sliding from her lips when she's had one too many drinks, when another difficult situation has prompted her to think _it's now or never_, or said because sometimes the words just tumble out before she can stop and think that, maybe, the truth is better concealed.

She wishes it could be different; wishes her life were built on those words, without having to say things she doesn't mean or let the truth slip out like a guilty secret. But those three words have always been one of two things for her, and she doesn't know when that's ever going to change.

The irony, of course, is that the people she lied to always responded by echoing her words, and the one person she has confessed to has not said it back. Yet.


	23. Choice

Choice

She chose which shoes to wear this morning, which jewellery best suited her dress, what colour lipstick to wear. She chose what to have for breakfast, which channel to watch as she sipped her coffee, which alternative route to take when she saw her usual roads were jammed with traffic.

She chose what career she wanted, which university to go to, what to write her dissertation on. She chose which man to marry, what her wedding dress should look like, which house would be her first marital home.

She also chose when to first utter the word _divorce_, what outfit to wear at her first meeting with the solicitor, which house would be her first as a newly single woman.

She's made a lot of choices in her life, but falling in love with Cal Lightman wasn't one of them. What she does about it, though; that will be her choice.


	24. Eyes

Eyes

She sees so much; sometimes she wishes she didn't. She doesn't see as much as he does, of course, and for that she's grateful. He probably wishes she _did _see more – wishes she'd seen the truth about Alec sooner, wishes she'd seen enough to avoid being hurt by Burns, wishes she'd see _him_, and how he really feels. That, she does see. Even if she pretends she doesn't.

There are a thousand things in this world that she loves seeing. Falling snow, rainbows, black skies full of stars. And there are a thousand things she wishes she didn't. Pain. Loss. Betrayal. And lies. Hundreds of lies. The trick, it seems, is knowing when to shut your eyes; when to look away from the things you don't want invading your senses, your brain, your heart. But you also need to know when to open your eyes, and that's something she thinks she needs to practise a little more. It's all very well shielding yourself from things, but if you keep your eyes closed forever, you'll miss what you love seeing the most. Falling snow, rainbows, black skies full of stars. And the moment when the person you're waiting for decides to stop lying to you, and just speak the truth. She definitely doesn't want to miss that.


	25. Fight

Fight

She'll fight with him; on the days when she isn't afraid to say what's on her mind, when she'd rather voice her anger than let it all slip away like it doesn't mean anything, when she feels she really _has _to.

Sometimes she fights herself – fights to not say anything, fights to keep her anger in check, fights to not wrap him up in cotton wool and forbid him from entering a war zone or a prison or anywhere where he might get shot or stabbed or god knows what else.

She's been fighting something else, too, but that's been happening for so long it's become second nature by now. In fact, she's not even sure it's still an issue. Sometimes it's hard to tell.

Mostly she feels like she fights to protect them; him, her, the company, their friendship. They all blur into one some days, and it's hard to distinguish where one thing ends and another begins.

A lot of the time, though, she isn't sure why she does it anymore; isn't sure what the point is, of why she carries on, of how long she _will _carry on before it all becomes too much and she just walks away.

She fights, but knows there is little point when you're fighting a losing battle.


	26. Photos

Photos

People talk about wishing they could turn back the clock; go back in time to a certain event and do it all again. And, in a way, she wishes that too. But her impossible dream is more specific; she wants to climb into one of the photo frames she has scattered around the house, and be the girl in the picture again, reliving that perfect moment when the light flashed and that one second of happiness was captured forever.

There's her wedding photo, that even after the divorce she hasn't removed. Just because her marriage crumbled doesn't mean that wasn't one of the happiest days of her life, and sometimes she longs to crawl into the picture and be wearing that dress again, smiling at the camera with her husband's arm around her, so much hope lying before her.

There's a family photo of when she was a child; a simpler time, when truths about her parents she learnt later in her life weren't known, when kneeling on the grass with her arms wrapped around her dog was all she needed to produce a wide grin, when three was the perfect number. Sometimes she'd like to be posing for that picture again; the wind ruffling her hair, the dampness of the grass soaking through her jeans, her parents' soft laughter floating through the air as they crouched behind her.

And then there's the photo that sits on the mantel of her, Cal and Emily that Emily gave her for Christmas. The three of them are sitting on the sofa in Cal's house; he's in the middle, his arms wrapped around both of them, a silly grin on all their faces as they wait for the timer on the camera to go off. He's wearing a Santa hat, Gillian has on reindeer ears and Emily is wearing flashing red and white deely boppers. They look happy, and relaxed, and... dare she even think it? _Like a family_.

She wishes she could climb into some of the photo frames she has scattered around the house and relieve that perfect moment, but most of them are long gone. Her marriage is over, she has grown up and left home – and her parents – far behind, and the only remnant of those times is the photo in the frame, and her memories. But not all those moments are gone. She picks up the picture of her, Cal and Emily, tracing the edge of the frame lightly with her finger.

Most of her pictures tell stories from the past, allowing her a glimpse of something she can never have again. But this one is different. This one shows a moment – a life - she can relive without having to turn back the clock. She hopes that will never change.


	27. Fade

Fade

She's seen a rainbow fade in the sky before her eyes; she's seen stains fade little by little with every wash; she's seen the colour on the cover of books fade from where the sunlight hits the shelf directly every day.

She's felt hope fade, too. Felt the dying light of day as the nights start drawing in, felt the warmth of the sun fade and the chill of the wind intensify, felt a million things that she used to believe defined who she was fade, and she isn't quite sure what that leaves behind.

She used to spend her life gazing at the stars, but there's too much darkness creeping in, a little more each day, so that now she doesn't recognise the constellations she used to know by heart.

Sometimes she thinks that if she could identify why her life seems to be fading before her eyes she could do something to stop it. The trouble is, the concern she has for what's happening is fading. Just like everything else.


	28. Lie

Lie

In the oppressive heat of the summer of '87, she truly learnt to lie. She told her mother that everything was fine, she told her friends that she was at home with a bad cold, she told herself when she looked in the mirror with heavy lidded eyes that she had done the right thing.

It was from that lie that so many more were sprung, spanning the decades of her life. She couldn't always hide the hollow look in her eyes, couldn't always mask the pain, couldn't always pretend with ease that not having children didn't weigh heavily on her. But her guilt, her shame, her long buried secret – those were things she locked away from the world. And it all began with the first real lie she ever told.

"_Are you sure you want to do this, Gill?"_

"_I'm sure."_

The lie that was the beginning; the lie that was, ultimately, the end.


	29. Stay

Stay

There are a thousand things he'd say to her, if he only knew how to form the words. There are a thousand things he tries to convey through his expression, but he fears the depth of his meaning is lost, the strength of his conviction is not there, the intensity of the truth escapes her.

_I'm sorry._

_I need you._

_Thank you._

There are a thousand things he wishes he could say to her, but the word he'd most like to say is: stay. Stay a little longer each time you're in the room, stay a little later every time you come for dinner, stay, even though I know I don't deserve you. Stay with me, forever. Whatever happens: just stay.


	30. Tangled

Tangled

They keep turning as they fly through this life, going one way, then suddenly another. They fall; sometimes she even thinks they'll crash, but they don't. Somehow he changes their direction at the last minute, and they are saved. They go up and down, round and round, their past and their present and their future becoming so tangled, she struggles to see where it all began, or where it will all end.

They twist and turn and tangle, and nothing is ever as it seems. She wants to trust that he knows what he's doing, but she can't. Not completely. She does trust him enough to take this ride with him, though. However tangled they are, however much the constant twisting and turning makes her giddy, she isn't going anywhere.

That, she thinks, may be one of the reasons they became so tangled in the first place; that, despite her protests, she wouldn't really have it any other way.


	31. Free

Free

She's thought about leaving him. Throwing it all away, moving to a new city, refusing to take his calls. She's tasted the word _free _on her tongue, and she's thought about what it is she would be free of.

Free of his mind games. Free of his unpredictable behaviour. Free of the problems his actions cause her on an increasingly regular basis. Free of the confusion she feels whenever she's near him, and the pang of regret that always makes her heart feel as heavy as a stone.

She thinks what else she would be free of, if she were to leave.

Free of his gentle touch. Free of his mischievous smile. Free of his fiercely protective nature. Free of the sound of his voice, his laughter, the comfortable silence that can exist between them when words aren't needed.

Free, she thinks, is surely just another word for lonely.


	32. Silence

Silence

It's not what he says that tells her the most. It's what he doesn't.

It's the lingering looks that lack words, it's the penetrating gaze that tears into her but makes no sound, it's the contemplative expression that has no vocal accompaniment.

They have conversations where he lies; tells her he's fine when he's not, says nothing is wrong when everything is, asks her to leave when she knows he would rather she stay. With his words, he lies to her almost every day.

But in the silence she can see the truth. In the silence she can see the brutal honesty of his love for her, and all that it entails. She just wishes she didn't have to wait for the silence to see it. She wishes he could express himself through his words, and tell her what she longs to hear. But every time she gives him the chance to confess what she has been waiting a lifetime to hear, she gets only one response. Silence.


	33. Closer

Closer

Sometimes, the closer you get to something, the further away it seems.

It's like inching closer to summer when a gusty day full of downpours makes you feel likes it's the middle of winter again; like trudging towards the horizon and never having it come within reach; like feeling you're near the finishing line and suddenly finding you're actually only just past the start.

The closer you get to the truth, the more people lie to you. And, sometimes, the closer you get to people, the more they pull away.

The closer she gets to _him_, the more he pulls away. She's felt it for years, this frustrating back and forth; whenever it seems that the elusive _us _could be within reach, he'll do something to extend the distance between them, turning inches into miles and creating a chasm she worries she'll never learn how to cross.

She doesn't understand the exact reason why, although fear would be her first guess, and her second, third and fourth. She doesn't know if it'll end – if there will be a natural point in their relationship when he realises he can't run and hide forever, or will simply tire of the incessant see saw of their relationship – or if it will go on ceaselessly, unless she does something to change it. She doesn't know if she's waiting for a train that's running very behind schedule or one that's never destined to arrive. Delays, however exasperating, she can accept; knowing _this _is as close as they'll ever get, she cannot.

Sometimes, the closer you get to something, the further away it seems. But if you're brave enough to chase it as it disappears into the wind, perhaps you don't have to live with it always being just out of reach. Perhaps you can have it, hold it, keep it with you forever – close enough that it can never get away again.


	34. Far

A/N Set early season three.

Far

They've come too far to throw it all away now; the business, their friendship, everything. They've come too far to wash their hands of each other, to kiss goodbye to the unspoken promise that has hung between them for years; that, someday, they'll have more than this.

But _far_ is also the word that springs to mind when she pictures him now. Even sitting in his office, when she's in hers, he could be a thousand miles away. And the distance that he's put between them – she's not going to take the blame for that, the cracks that are beginning to show are all down to him – is growing more every day.

She can see how far apart they've drifted, she can see how far away he wants to put himself these days, she can see how far they still have to go before they reach that day she's been imagining for so long. That day when they can throw the past away, forget all their mistakes, admit the barest truth that exists between them and just let themselves be happy, for once – has never looked so far away.

But they've come too far to throw it all away now. She just hopes he realises this as well as she does.


End file.
